Australia
by Ozma333
Summary: A one-shot companion piece to my completed work Heal. Ron and Hermione find a moment alone in Australia. Rated MA.


A/N: Hello! It's been a long while since I've published anything on this site. I wasn't planning on continuing any story in the same thread as Heal, but then this popped into my head, literally in a single afternoon, and by the end of that night, here it was: a fully realized one-shot. And I think that's all this is going to be. But I figured I'd put it up anyway as there were lots of people who PM'd me and left reviews asking for this very scene. So hopefully you will enjoy! If you haven't read Heal, I wouldn't say it's absolutely necessary to do so. I, of course, think Heal is great, so why wouldn't you want to read it? ;) But if you're just in the mood for a MA one-shot romance, this should do the trick nicely and there's no large backstory to complicate it. Thanks for taking the time to read and hopefully enjoy. Much love to you all, especially you chronic reviewers who make my day without even knowing it.

Cheers!  
Ozma333

Australia

Her fingers were getting sore. It had taken six Portkeys to get the three of them here. They were checked in now. It was seven o'clock at night, too early for bed really. The sun wasn't even lowered yet, it hung, still brilliant, on the edge of the horizon. She could see it clearly through the clean glass of her fourth floor hotel window. Her fingers twist together of their own accord and she frowned, pausing momentarily before shaking her hands apart again and resuming her pacing.

There was no need to unpack. They were spending a night here, in the posh Sidney hotel, to position them close to the Australian Ministry. There was a meeting scheduled for tomorrow. Kingsley had helped to arrange it. With any luck, they would have already found her parents. Hopefully, they would be traveling again tomorrow to get them.

Her heart clenched and stomach dropped.

_I'm not ready._

She wasn't ready. They would hate her, she knew it. How could they possibly forgive her? They, who knew barely anything about the world in which she lived, about the world she had felt a duty towards saving. A battle? Torture? Deadly magical items? Starving and living in a tent with her best mates, her male best mates...

How could they possibly understand?

She was not the same girl she was at eleven, at the last age they could have had any hope of fully understanding her. She wasn't the same girl she was a year ago even, before she had stripped their memory free of her. She had changed, permanently. She had lost, had maimed, had probably killed.

And she was more in love than she had ever been.

If they forgave her, if they wanted to go home; they would want her with them. They would need her. If would be disorienting, remembering two separate lives like that. She would have to be with them to help them adjust. And if she was with them, she wouldn't be with...

Her eyes strayed to the closed door that adjoined her room with George and Ron's. She paced over to it, her nervous fingers resting on the smooth paneling of the wooden door. She had asked for separate rooms, but also asked that they adjoin. Ron hadn't been aware that such things had existed. But it was why she had made the reservations in the nicest Muggle hotel she could find. She had the money from her savings. She wanted to use it in the Muggle world before she left it entirely.

She couldn't hear any movement from behind the door.

Sighing, she turned. She was being selfish. Of course she should want to be with her parents.

It was just the waiting. She felt useless, a feeling she had never been entirely comfortable with. Her meeting with the foreign Ministry was scheduled for three in the afternoon tomorrow. A thought crossed her mind and she moved to the room's ornate desk, yanking open the top drawer. A phonebook lay in the drawer, next to a Bible. It would list Muggle names, of course. She was in a Muggle hotel.

She dropped to the bed and flipped through it excitedly.

"Perkins, Perkins," she murmured, her fingers tracing down the list of tiny names, hoping to catch a glimpse of the pseudonym she had forced on her parents. There were several Perkins and her heart initially leap. But none of the first names or initials matched. She slumped on the bed, frowning. It had been a long shot, she knew that. Listlessly, she turned to the first page. The publication date listed the book was released two years ago.

_Fat lot of good that would do me._

In a fit of irritation, she flung the book towards the desk. It landed with a thump, no where near the open drawer. She groaned, rising from the bed with the intention of picking it up. She halted at the sound of a door bolt sliding open. Her chest clenched and her eyes rose slowly to the door opening between her and Ron's room.

He moved in quietly, his eyes on the darkened room he was leaving behind. The door slid closed behind him and Ron bolted it once more.

"Wh-" Hermione started but had to stop, her mouth was dry. She licked her lips and tried to swallow.

Ron eyed the phone book, the binding open and pages in disarray, as it lay on the floor, before he dragged his eyes to hers. He grinned.

"You're pacing a hole in this carpet, aren't you?" he murmured. Hermione frowned but he continued smiling. "What's wrong? Can't sleep?"

"It's only seven!"

"It's eight," Ron corrected and with a shock, Hermione whipped around to check her bedside clock. It's glowing numbers confirmed Ron was right. "But that doesn't matter. We traveled all day, sitting in Portkey offices, those terrible boxed lunches, you should be exhausted."

As soon as Ron said the words, Hermione realized he was right. She was exhausted. But she was anxious, too. Her hands were wringing again, completely of their own accord, and the pit of her stomach twist and knotted. She couldn't sleep, she knew she wouldn't be able to.

_Maybe a book..._

Ron regarded her closely, watching the thoughts fly across her face as plainly as though she were speaking them aloud. "C'mere," he said softly, crossing to the bed and holding his arms out.

Hermione hesitated, regarding him. A heat flared in her lower belly and she found it hard to swallow again.

She was happy he was here with her, that he'd made the journey to stay with her. She needed him. He knew that. And they had said, not in so many words, but it was inferred, that they would be together in Australia, really together, the way lovers were. She had said that, hadn't she? Was he thinking that?

"Hermione," Ron admonished, beckoning her closer with a nod of his head, his arms still outstretched. She took a hesitant step closer. He reached for her, grabbing at her waist and pulling her down on the bed. She felt a thrill and then tensed.

She wanted him. Sometimes the need felt dangerous in it's intensity. And once her lips met his, she had lost herself several times. It would happen soon enough, she would lose, no give, every part of herself to the man hovering over her. So why was she suddenly so nervous?

_Oh, this traitorous body! Would it ever make sense?_

Ron was regarding her intently, his eyes piercing her to the bed. She let her head rest back on the soft pillow, her legs resting across his lap. He smiled gently and shifted lower, cradling her feet. Slowly, with precision and giving her time to stop him, he started untying her laces. She frowned, surprised at his actions.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, his voice soft, his eyes on her trainers. She bit back a laugh.

"I-" Hermione paused, unsure. Come to think of it, was she hungry? She couldn't tell. Hunger registered so far down past the twisting of anxiety in her stomach and now the pleasant ache that beat insistently lower.

"You haven't eaten since noon, and even then you only nibbled on that terrible sandwich."

Her brow furrowed; that sandwich had been terrible.

"We could order room service," she suggested. Ron looked up from her trainers. He had both untied now.

"What's that?" he asked, genuine curiosity lacing his tone. In response, she twist towards the night stand, pulled the little menu out and passed it over to him. He opened it, his expression brightening.

"You can pick what you want, order it on the phone, and they bring it up," Hermione explained.

"Really? They will?" Ron asked, excitedly. Then he frowned. "What are these numbers then?" he asked, pointing at the prices.

"Oh," Hermione shrugged. "Prices, but don't worry-" He was already shutting the menu and putting it back on the bed. "Don't be silly, Ron!"

"I don't have any Muggle money yet," Ron offered, shrugging. "I do have money with me. Galleons, you know? Thought the Ministry here might be able to change it for me."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Please, please don't worry about money. I have Muggle money. I exchanged some of my British currency for Australian before we even left. What am I going to do with all that savings anyway? I live in a wizard's society. I might as well use what I have while I'm in the Muggle world. I won't be in it for long."

Ron regarded her thoughtfully. Hermione rolled her eyes and shoved the menu back in his hands. "Please?" she murmured. "Order something for me too, won't you?"

Ron smiled at that and nodded, picking up the phone and pressing the numerical buttons a bit too hard. When he spoke, ordering enough food for four of them, Hermione thought, he shouted a bit into the receiver. She didn't correct him, just smiled. He grinned at her when he was done.

"They said twenty minutes," he said, returning the receiver to the cradle.

She couldn't resist. "Do they have to run to the grocers to get enough ingredients for everything you ordered?" His face fell for a fracture of a second, but Hermione kept her eyes playful and directly on him. He grinned down at her and shrugged.

His fingers fell back to her loose trainers, and slowly, he pulled them from her feet.

"What are you doing?" she asked, propping herself up on her elbows and regarding him.

"Getting back to what I was doing before you distracted me with food," he answered, grinning. "I'm relaxing you. Now, lay back."

She listened to him without argument, laid back on the bed and closed her eyes. His touch, innocent as it was, distracted her. It was soothing, having his warm fingers drifting over her.

She heard the clunk when her discarded shoes hit the floor, but tensed when Ron's fingers drifted to the hem of her socks and started slowly peeling them down.

"Ron," she protested, embarrassed. She started to get back up.

"Lay down," he said softly, one hand pushing her back to the bed. "Let me do this, please."

She did as he asked, clenching her eyes shut tighter than before. Her socks joined her shoes, piling on the floor by her bed. Ron's fingers ghosted over her bare feet, and she kept absolutely still. His fingers pressed, softly at first, and then more firmly. He pinched each toe separately, before rolling his knuckles up the sole of her foot. His thumbs kneaded into the heel and an involuntary moan slid past her lips.

He was very good at this.

She heard his soft chuckle but refused to meet his eyes, still embarrassed. Then she started as she felt an odd sensation, warm and soft lips, pressing a kiss to the top of first her left foot, then her right. She gasped softly and her eyes flew open as she went to sit up. Ron was smiling softly at her. He mouthed "Lay down," and she did again, slowly.

His fingers resumed the pressure, firm then soft, ghosting over first one foot, then the other. But they were drifting higher too. First her ankle, covered in soft caresses, then her calf. Soft and low at first, but drifting higher up under her jeans.

She was fidgeting now, it was harder to lay still, and she was sure Ron was noticing. But her hips were jerking, fractionally and hopefully unnoticeably, but she could feel it. And the heat, low in her belly, was flaring, aching. She tried to transfer this tension to her fingers; she gripped the rumpled bed sheet underneath her prone body and held tightly. She thought she heard Ron chuckle again, but she couldn't open her eyes to check.

One hand left her calf and traced slowly up her right leg, drifting over the jeans. She felt Ron shift on the bed underneath her, felt her feet slip a bit in his lap. She squirmed and she knew he noticed by the breathy laugh he released. His fingers continued anyway, ghosting over the jumping pulse point where her leg met her hip. He traced the waistline of her jeans, toying at last with the button before springing it free. Her zip was lowered slowly. Her breathing was faster now, almost erratic. She wasn't nervous any longer, and there was very little anxiety. But she wasn't relaxed, she was wound tighter than a spring now, her eyes still closed as she waited for his next touch.

But what she was anticipating didn't come. Instead, she felt the jeans being peeled from her legs, slowly. Her panties were left in place. She couldn't remember what pair she had on and some anxiety sparked at this, but she dismissed it. Ron's fingers were following the path of the jeans he was lowering, one set of fingers tracing the skin that was revealed with the lowered garment.

He pulled the jeans clean off, dropping them on the floor next to her trainers.

"Sit up a minute," he whispered. He soothed the bed sheet from her grip and tugged on her hands to help her.

She did as he asked, opening her eyes to watch him. He regarded her with such intensity, such caring, that her stomach flipped in response.

"Arms up," he murmured, tugging her jumper up and over her head. She did remember what was on under this garment, a camisole, simple cotton with a small, lacy edge. Ron dropped her jumper on the floor but made no move for the camisole. Instead, he slid his fingers slowly up her arms. Hermione felt her eyes drift close and struggled to open them again, they felt heavy lidded. His fingers toyed at the strap for her bra, and he slipped first one, then the other down her arm before reaching around her to undo the clasp. His breath was warm on her neck as he leaned close to her.

He popped the clasp open quickly and Hermione had a flash of wondering if he had done this before, but she dismissed it almost instantly, it didn't matter anyway. He left the camisole in place but pulled at the bra, dropping it on the floor when it came free.

Hermione could feel her own heartbeat, could feel her breathing and, if she looked down, see the evidence of the sharp intakes of breath through the camisole that was just a thin layer between her and Ron. His hands found her shoulders and he pushed, gently. She fell back to the pillow and closed her eyes again, knowing without him telling her that he wanted her laying down again.

"Comfortable?" he asked in a low whisper. She nodded, not trusting her voice.

His hands found her feet again, they were propped in his lap. But he quickly drifted higher, ghosting up past her ankles, then her calfs. He pressed and massaged, working her muscles in a way that left them softened and relaxed. As tense as parts of her were, the part between her legs especially, the rest was melting, feeling unable to move after Ron's fingers left her lower body parts in search for those higher. Her thighs came next and it was pleasure and pain as he caressed her, drifting higher but not where she needed him, skimming past the part that ached for him to touch and kneading her muscles into soft submission.

She groaned when he skimmed past her panties, his fingers caressing softly but briefly and only on the waistband. Her hands were next, and he kneaded her palms, rubbed down each finger individually, pressed his thumb to the knot of muscle underneath her own thumbs. He picked up one arm at a time, running his fingers down the length, massaging firmly and then gently before he placed them back on the bed. Hermione felt no need to grip the bedsheets this time. All of her anxiety had melted, concentrating in one place, the only place Ron wasn't touching.

He shifted her feet from his lap and she felt the bed dip next to her, sure that Ron was stretching out there. She peeked from under her lashes and caught the most fervent look on his face, his eyes drifting the length of her. Heat flashed, strong and hot, and if his hands hadn't rested at the moment on her shoulder, she would have jumped him.

As it was, she lay still, letting him continue his melt-inducing search of her body. He rubbed her shoulders, traced the outline of her ear, leaned over and kissed the three freckles she knew now had fascinated him for years. A smile bloomed on her face and the warmth surged through her chest as well. His fingers traced her neckline and she leaned further back, elongating her neck for him. She felt his lips press softly to her pulse and it jumped under the steady pressure of his mouth. She moved her face towards him, nudging him lightly and seeking those warm lips on hers. He drifted up further and pressed his lips to first one closed eye, then the other, lingering.

A sharp rap on the door broke them apart. Hermione gasped. "The food! I forgot," she said, attempting to sit up. Ron pushed her back.

"I'll get it," he said, moving off the bed. He pulled a duvet from the end of the bed and covered her up. Her cheeks blazed red.

"I should-" she started, moving to get her jumper at least. Ron frowned down at her sternly.

"Don't you move," he said, authority ringing from his tone. She felt her eyebrows rise but she nodded. She didn't really want to get dressed regardless.

"They'll charge the room, so don't worry about the money, but give him this," she pulled her purse from the side table and took out a bill. Ron took it from her with only a small grimace. She pulled the duvet to her chin.

Ron didn't let the hotel employee into the room, and for that Hermione was grateful. She tried to reassure herself that she couldn't possibly be the first half naked women wrapped in a duvet that the employee had delivered food to, surely this happened all the time. But her cheeks felt hot and red all the same.

This new intimacy with Ron was just all so fresh and new. She still didn't know what to expect from him in moments like these, and that was unusual for her. She knew his arguments before he made them, knew when he'd roll his eyes and could anticipate his rolling belly laughs before they issued. But lately there was this whole new Ron who's actions and comments where mysterious and new. It left this great and not unappreciated anticipation that manifested by roiling and pitching in her belly.

Ron returned quickly, a silver tray propped in his arms. It was full to brimming with food and Ron had a goofy, childish grin spreading across his face. Hermione laughed when she saw him; he placed the tray on the desk and turned back to her. She was sitting up again, reaching down for her jumper.

"Hey!" Ron started, frowning at her, "What did I tell you?"

"Ron!" Hermione laughed. "I have to get dressed to eat."

He was shaking his head. "You absolutely do not. But we're not eating yet, that'll wait."

"We're not?" she asked and now her eyebrows were high on her forehead. Ron hopped on the bed, stretching on his side to lay next to her again. "Did you want to call George first?" Hermione asked, unable to understand why Ron would want to wait to eat, he never had before.

But he shook his head. "George is asleep. He was knackered as soon as we got here. That trip took it out of him I think."

"Oh." Hermione couldn't think of a more elegant response than this. "Than what-"

"How are you feeling?" Ron asked, interrupting her.

She laughed. "A little confused," she admitted, glancing purposely over at the tray of waiting food. Ron smiled.

"Leave it, it'll wait," he said softly. "How else are you feeling?"

"Warm," Hermione answered instinctively. She was warm, and not just because she was still clutching the duvet. "Comfortable, happy." She almost added 'frustrated' because the ache between her legs just would not stop pulsing, and she knew, after his fingers had drifted over ever inch of exposed skin, that she was wet now too. The thought made her blush and she dipped her head.

"Those sound like good things," Ron murmured. She nodded.

"They are, they definitely are," she said, raising her head and staring directly into his eyes. He smiled.

"Relaxed?" he asked.

"Most definitely."

"Good," Ron smiled and there was a note of triumph there.

"How about you, Ron? How are you feeling?" she asked, a little tentatively because she wasn't sure where he was going with this.

"Me?" he laughed. "I feel hungry." But the way his eyes locked on her, Hermione wasn't sure he was hungry for just food. She flushed spectacularly and said, her voice husky enough to embarrass her, "Well? Take care of that, won't you?"

He eyed her and she held his gaze. He got up slowly, grabbed a few items from the tray perched on the desk, and returned to the bed. Hermione huffed playfully. "Eating in bed, are we?"

He laughed at this and a playful side to Ron shone through his sparkling eyes for a moment. He handed over a chilled Caesar salad and a fork. "Eat," he said, chuckling at her pout. But she softened almost immediately, especially when she remembered that it was years ago, sometime at a Hogwarts dinner, when she had lamented the fact the that castle never served Caesar salad and Ron had to ask what that even was, looking put out by her description. It was years ago, but the chilled dish in her hands proved that he had remembered.

The dishes lay empty and grouped on the side table not long after, Hermione wishing she had a napkin, when Ron turned to face her fully. "You've got a bit of-" he started, but then he leaned forward quickly, capturing her lips in a quick yet heated kiss before pulling back.

"Well, the dressing tastes good on you," he murmured. Hermione's eyebrows shot up and Ron grinned. She pounced at him, flinging herself in his arms, the duvet crumpling, forgotten, beneath them. Her lips sought his feverishly and the ache that he kindled with his massage earlier pulsed with an almost painful intensity. He fell back on the rumpled bed and she followed, climbing atop him with an audacity that should have made her flush with mortification. But it had the opposite effect. She felt emboldened. She straddled his hips, pressed her breasts to his chest, and his responses made her forget there were any other humans anywhere in the world.

"Merlin, Hermione," he muttered when she released his lips at last. She dragged her lips down the column of his throat, sucking along the way. He groaned heavily and his grip on her hips spasmed. She didn't know if she could form coherent words yet and she seemed to have shocked Ron, because though his hands gripped tightly, they didn't wander like before. He seemed stunned underneath her.

And he was wearing far too many clothes.

She pulled at the neck of his jumper with her teeth, using her fingers to pry it further down his body, her tongue rolling along his collarbone, tasting him in ways she never had before. She felt feverish with want. Her hips were moving slowly, but the pattern was obvious, the shifting and tensing relieving some of the ache, but not nearly enough. He was wearing jeans, and though the bulge was evident, the constrictive material made it hard to gage what was underneath. She realized with a start that she had never seen him, not all of him, not like he'd seen her. Because he'd either seen or touched every part of her so far, and she had in no way returned the favor. She sat up on him quickly, bringing her lower half in sharper contact with his; she watched as he clenched his eyes shut in either elation or discomfort, it was hard to tell.

"Are you okay?" she whispered before she could stop herself. She wanted more, more of him, but his look of momentary distress unsettled her.

"Oh yes," he rasped, eyes flying open to stare at her. "Absolutely. But are you sure this what you want?"

She frowned, unsure what he meant.

"Didn't we say..." she trailed off, not wanting to push him as she had before.

Every time before! No matter how much he blamed himself, it was always me.

But they had said, when they got to Australia that they would. They had agreed that taking it slow just wasn't working for them.

"We did," he rushed to say. "We certainly did. But I can wait if you need to."

What she needed was not to wait. Even now, even speaking to him, her hips rotated of their own accord and she ached. It was painful and stripped her mind of all other logical things.

"I don't think I want to," she replied. "Wait, I mean. I don't think I want to wait at all. But if you-"

"No!" Ron interrupted forcefully, "That's not what I meant, I just meant, with your parents... Did you want to find them first? We could-"

It was like a bucket of ice water hit her forcefully. She moved off him, settling on her knees at his side. He swore under his breath.

"I'm an idiot," he said as she shook her head. "I'm sorry."

"Does it make me horrible?" she whispered back, swiping fingers over her eyes that had brimmed suddenly and unwelcomingly with tears.

"You're not horrible," he said softly, sitting up and stroking a finger over her cheek. "What'd you mean by that?"

"I mean..." she started but the thought that formed scared her. Ron waited patiently and she took a deep breath. "I mean, I'm scared to find them."

"They're alright, Hermione. You'll set them straight and have them home and everything will be fine."

"But I won't have you," she murmured, not meeting his eye.

"How could you say that?" he barked through a laugh, "You'll always have me."

"But I'll live with them, I won't see you at night, won't be able to stop by your room to listen to you breathing and snoring." He snorted at that and used one finger to raise her chin.

"So I'll get my own place, you can stay every night if you like."

She smiled but it was anxious again. "What about Seventh Year?"

He looked gobsmacked. "You mean Hogwarts? You'd go back?"

"I didn't finish," she answered quietly. He pondered this a moment.

"Huh," he started. "It never really crossed my mind. I, erm, I guess-"

"Oh, never mind all that," Hermione huffed. She sounded impatient. "We have time to figure that all out later."

"Ok," Ron answered, a puzzled look crossing his features. He shifted and got up from the bed and a bolt of panic shot through Hermione.

"Where are you going?"

"Just-"

"Don't leave me," she said it softly and was able to stop herself before she added 'like this' to the end of her sentence. But frustrated as she was, scared of the future and of what finding her parents would mean; she was still aching, uncomfortable as she shifted her hips and her position on the bedspread.

"Just the loo," he said, smiling at her and pointing to the closed door to the room where George slept, "and to fetch my pajamas."

"You don't need them," she blurted before she could stop herself. His eyebrows rose dramatically and she felt the color flood her cheeks. "I'm not wearing any."

At the mention of her clothing she felt Ron's heated gaze sweep her head to toe. Heat rose from her chest and added to the flush in her cheeks.

"I'll just use your loo then, yeah?" he asked and she nodded. The door closed and Hermione took a deep breath, using the moment alone to collect herself.

_Slow. You need to go slow._

This was her first time. Their first time. There was no need to rush this. No Dark Wizard would come pounding down the door, no parents would be suspicious of noises they heard from downstairs, there were no interruptions that would stop this.

So she had time, they had time. They could go slow.

_We will go slow._

She got out of the bed, pulling at the comforter and straightening the rumpled covers. She snatched her wand off the dresser to recite a quick Silencing Charm before tossing it back down, just in case. She brought the discarded plates to the tray, keeping the drinks Ron had ordered and the two sandwiches, and putting them in the mini fridge by the door. The tray she toed outside and into the hallway, hoping no one would see her naked leg as she did.

Then she looked down at herself.

_Should I change? Would I be ridiculous? Too obvious?_

She decided against it. If they didn't do anything more tonight, she could sleep in this, if they did... Well, Ron didn't seem to mind her clothing much at all anyway and, if he wanted her to, she'd be stripping it all off in a bit regardless.

She squirmed at the thought just as the door to her loo opened. Ron emerged, looking much the same, his clothes all intact. He grinned, though Hermione thought he may have been a bit nervous too. She smiled and gestured behind him. He scooted to the side and she slipped into the bathroom.

She brushed her teeth and splashed cold water on her face but didn't take too long. Still, when she exited back into the room, Ron was still standing in the middle, looking a little awkward.

She felt a tinge of uncertainty. "You will stay with me tonight, won't you?"

"Of course," Ron answered, "if that's what you want." She nodded her affirmation.

She moved toward the bed and he followed, taking the opposite side from what she chose. She had her eyes on him when she slipped under the sheet. He went to do the same but her frown stopped him.

"What?" he asked, the nerves evident in his voice.

"Are you going to sleep in that?" she asked, nodding to his clothing. He frowned.

"You told me I didn't need my pajamas."

She rolled her eyes through a blush. "So strip off. Your jeans and jumper at least."

Men slept in their underpants all the time, she knew they must. They looked just like shorts and Hermione had washed enough of Ron's over the last year to know this. The very tips of his ears had gone red, but his hands jerkily pulled his jumper over his head. His chest was pale and broad, but she didn't have time to properly appreciate it; she was distracted as his hands moved towards his jeans. She noticed a slight tremble in his fingers when they went to his zip. But she was distracted completely when the waistband loosened from his hips and the jeans started to drop. Her mouth felt dry and she tried to swallow, her eyes focusing in on a thin trail of ginger hair that ran from his lower abdomen and disappeared past the waistline of his underpants.

And then an involuntary grunt of irritation slipped past her lips as he turned his back to her to yank his jeans off completely. He slipped into the bed and under the covers without her getting a glimpse of him at all. She frowned petulantly.

"What?" he asked through a shaky laugh. Her frown deepened at being called out.

"You know what!" she shot back, crossing her arms and resting her head back on her pillow. Ron laughed again, this time whole heartedly and at her discomfort. She grunted again but otherwise ignored him.

Well, she had intended to ignore him, that was until a large and warm hand spread over her belly, caressing softly. "No, what?" he murmured, moving closer to her in the bed. She felt her eyes drift close as his breath, minty and fresh, washed over her.

"You," she whispered back, and he chuckled again. "You're no fair."

"Mmm, sorry, love," he murmured, his nose passing along her jaw line and his lips lingering at her pulse point. "But you have known me for years and you must have suspected this before now."

"Oh, true," she murmured, not caring at all that she was losing a fight and focusing entirely on the hand that was now drifting lower. Ron chuckled softly against her skin. She wanted to shift closer, wanted to feel more of him. But she was reminding herself to go slow, reminding herself that there was no rush and that they had time. His fingers played with her waistband and drifted lower.

"Wait," she whispered, pulling his hand up just as her belly flared in disapproval of her words.

He jerked his hand up immediately and when she opened her eyes, he looked abashed. "Sorry."

She shook her head. "No, don't be. I just- Just not yet, okay?" she asked, not wanting to phrase what she really wanted, not yet. He nodded and then caught the hem of her camisole, a question in his raised eyebrow. She nodded and lift her arms. He pulled it up slowly.

He had seen her breasts before. It didn't make her feel shy to have him see them again, even if all she wore now was her panties. It was the feeling she had had not long ago, that emboldened feeling, helped on by the way his eyes blazed as he took her in. She was propped up, but only a bit, on the pillow she had been resting on before. She lay quite still, waiting him out. His head lowered slowly and he pressed a long, lingering kiss to the scar that always bothered her. She had never felt herself to be beautiful, not in the way some girls were, and she always wondered if that ugly scar might detract from it further. But all it seemed to bring out of Ron was a rush of protectiveness, of furtive caring. And that, well that she found sexy as hell.

He stayed, nuzzled against her for a moment, his lips tender on her scar. Her fingers drifted up to his fiery hair and she threaded them into the strands. He turned his head and kissed the the side of one of her breasts, dragging his lips towards the peak until he took her nipple in his mouth.

An expletive almost shot from her mouth and she bit back into a moan at the last moment, remembering his laughter when she swore the last time he fondled her breasts, remembering how that made him stop. She didn't want him to stop.

He nipped lightly at her and she tensed with pleasure, almost damning herself for not letting him touch her already. But she held firm, breathing heavily and murmuring nonsense all of a sudden, telling him with breathy whimpers what he was doing to her.

His fingers traced up her belly lightly before encasing her other breast, he mimicked the movements of his tongue and teeth and lips with his fingers. She keened.

"Merlin, Ron," she mumbled. "So good."

She couldn't let this continue, she'd never make it if he did. "C'mere," she mumbled and he obeyed, shifting up on the bed until she could close her lips over his. Their kiss was searching, tongues met and pulled back again, it was slow and yet feverish. When she broke away, she kissed down his neck, tracing his collarbone again with her tongue, before placing a light smattering of kisses all over the chest she hadn't the chance to properly appreciate before. He sighed in contentment. But she didn't want to stop there. She popped up from his chest and eyed him nervously.

"What is it?" he asked, cocking his head in curiosity. She looked away, suddenly nervous. "Hermione, love, what?"

"I..." she trailed off, her eyes lowered. She saw what he was seeing, her sitting up, the sheets falling around her lap. She was still topless and her breasts showed faint red marks from where his mouth had sucked. "I want to see you," she said, emboldened once more. Ron's eyes widened but he nodded, laying back. Hermione gripped the sheets and pulled, they slid to their feet.

His shorts were still on and her eyes were drawn immediately to his bulge. It would have been impossible to ignore, even with the tantalizing trail of ginger hair also calling to her. It was large, larger than she had anticipated, and she felt her breaths coming in nervous little pants. But the ache intensified too, almost as though her body knew better what she wanted and was excited by what it saw. She stretched her hand forward tentatively, aware of Ron's eyes on her face. She traced that little trail of hair and then caught the waistband of his underpants in her fingers. They were maroon. She peeled them down, slowly and carefully, and so she was surprised when the waistband was tugged from her fingers as he suddenly sprang free. She looked up at him in surprise and he was smiling nervously, a flush spreading. He reached down and pulled them the rest of the way, eventually using his feet to kick them off. Hermione couldn't take her eyes off him. Her fingers trailed around his hip, noting his pulse point as it leap under her fingers.

"Can I?" she asked tentatively.

"Yeah," he rasped. She touched him lightly, tracing her fingers over the length, and he hissed as she did so. She wrapped her hand tightly around him and he bucked up into her fingers.

"Fuck," he muttered, his hips shifting not unlike her own. She moved her grip up and then down and he groaned. The tip glistened and she stared transfixed. And in a moment of braveness or stupidity or just plain curiosity, she leaned forward and licked the salty substance leaking from him. He cried out in earnest as she did this and then she felt his hands enclose on her arms. She was yanked to the top of the bed and Ron kissed her full and hard, his tongue invading her mouth through his groans.

His hands were everywhere now, stroking down her arms, her thighs, gripping her tightly to him. But when he toyed with the band of her knickers she stopped him again in a breathy whimper.

"No, please," she begged. She wanted him to touch her, needed the friction and the release, but...

"Why?" he breathed. "Why not?"

It was another moment of braveness or stupidity, of that she was convinced, but either way, she couldn't look him in the eye when she confessed it. She pressed her lips to his neck, sucking hard on his jumping pulse point, and whispered, "I want to come with you inside me."

He groaned in earnest and sought her mouth again, kissing her hard. Their eyes met and they knew, this was the moment. He was already naked, she was nearly so, and so when this time he tugged at her panties, she let him. She helped him kick them off and lay underneath him. His weight settled on her and she felt his erection bobbing against her inner thigh. He looked momentarily concerned.

"Are you sure-"

"I'm ready, Ron," she breathed, impatient now. He kissed her slowly.

"I meant are you sure you're ready, down here," his fingers drift passed her hip and this time she didn't stop him when they dipped between her legs. She was wet, she knew already, but his fingers slid so easily into her that he could need no further proof. She clenched and moaned, her fingers scratching at his back.

"Yes, please, I'm ready," she moaned. He brought his lips to her again and swallowed her cry when he pushed forward and entered her.

He moved slowly. It was tight, but the friction was good, it was-

"Oh!" she groaned into his mouth as jolts of pleasure shot from her apex. This was very good. It was uncomfortable too, but the pleasure of finally having a friction that soothed the ache overshadowed the rest. He was still inching forward.

_He's big._

The thought flashed through her pleasure addled mind; but it was true, there was so much of him. He was panting against her lips now, his arms straining with his weight and the effort to hold back.

"Let go, Ron," she murmured against his mouth. "Please, I want this." She could barely get the words out, and indeed, some of them may not have formed correctly, but he understood her meaning regardless. He pushed forward, all the way at last, and she cried out; her back arching off the bed, not from pain, though there was some of that too, but at the overwhelming pleasure, at the realization that they were finally one.

"Yes, more," she panted as he pulled back and pushed forward, faster this time. She moaned and clutched at his back, urging him forward and faster. He complied and his rhythm was fast and deep as her hips rose to meet his. Her ache was gone, now it was a pounding, a swirling intensity like that she had never felt before. It urged her, beyond anything else she may be feeling, to want more, want it harder, want it faster. And Ron seemed to want the same. He caught her mouth against his and kissed deeply. She sucked at his tongue, pulling it into her mouth. One of his hands left the bed and reached for her breast. He tugged at her nipple and the jolt that shot from her breast to the place they were connected was sharp and fast. The pounding, swirling in her belly tightened and a pleasure like that she had never felt before consumed her. Their kiss became sloppy as their mouths bumped. She cried out, yelled really, and after a few more erratic thrusts she felt Ron still within her.

The world slowed, then stopped, before it all came slowly back to life. Hermione had closed her eyes, she hadn't even realized she had done it until she opened them again. Ron was above her, his eyes resting closed, his breath comes in short little pants. He pulled out from her and settled close to her side. She felt a rush of warmth and wetness when he left her and decided to ignore it, she'd clean up later. She rolled over and snuggled into Ron's arms, placing a gentle kiss on his freckle strewn chest.

"Ok?" he asked after a minute, after Hermione could hear that his heartbeats had begun to slow.

"Mhmm," she murmured happily, kissing his warm skin again. He chuckled and she felt it rumble through her lips. She leaned back and smiled at him.

"You're incredible and beautiful and sexy and I love you," he murmured, looking tenderly into her eyes. "I meant to say all that before, but I got terribly distracted."

"Not terribly, I hope?" she teased, a look of mock horror on her face.

He laughed and hugged her all the tighter. "No, not terribly. Brilliantly, amazingly!"

She laughed, and her breasts, already tender, rubbed along his naked chest in a way that made her bite back another moan.

"Merlin, you are sexy," he murmured again, kissing her deeply. She responded, slowly but with fervent intensity and he matched her pace. They sighed into each other, and now when hands and fingers roved neither stopped the other. They explored each other fully, slowly, savoring the bits that were rushed before and kissing the entire time.

It was long after Ron had first come into her room that one of them muttered "Nox" putting out the lights and curling together to sleep.


End file.
